luna
by queenforbes
Summary: klaus / caroline: A neurotic blonde. A grumpy artist. And a scandalous secret that threatens to rip the carpet out from the bottom of the world and send it tumbling. Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr Mikaelson—would you like a drink?
1. utinam barbari spatium proprium tuum

**A/N:** Re-uploaded and fixed and had a lot more added to it.

Review if you enjoy it and want me to continue?

**luna**

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_utinam barbari spatium proprium tuum invadant—_

**may barbarians invade your personal space.**

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Sometimes you have to do things for the sake of doing them. You have to take that leap. Dive off the board. Drink that last shot even though you've got work tomorrow and your boss will have your head for supper.

The last category is the one Ms Caroline Forbes falls into.

"DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!"

Caroline downs the shot and whoops as the buzz hits her. She slams her hands on the table, drumming them down in an incoherent pattern, and taps on the back of the person next to her. "I," she begins, "have work tomorrow."

"That's—," Bonnie Bennett mumbles. "Good?"

"Bad," Caroline corrects, giggling. "Very bad…"

Katherine "Don't Call Me Gilbert Or I'll Cut You" _Pierce_ steals Bonnie's drink and gulps it down. She jumps up to the table, slams down her kitten heels—"Five _hundred_ dollars, bitches,"—on the wood and calls, "MORE DRINKS!"

Next to the three drunks, Elena Gilbert groans and watches her friends throw themselves into the crowd. Music blares out of the speakers. Colours fly over the walls. Drunken laughter escapes from their lips. Whose _brilliant_ idea was it for her to be the designated driver on their girl's night, anyway?

"Excuse me, I believe I ordered a drink—oh, I'm sorry," someone says as they accidentally brush past her arm.

Elena turns and—_woah_. All she sees first is pure suit before blinking. The man in front of her is tall, just that bit taller than her, enough to make her grateful for the heels she'd borrowed from Katherine. Sharp suit. Elegant smile. Perfectly coiffed hair she hasn't seen since Stefan. "It's okay." She smiles and bites down on her bottom lip. "Um—I'm Elena Gilbert."

"Elijah Mikaelson," he replies—and oh my, is that a _British_ accent?

Behind him, she can see Caroline and Bonnie crazy-dancing one of their synchronised sleepover dance routines from middle school. Bonnie drops to the floor as Caroline continues dancing around her. Oh, God, was that the Sugababes?

"So, are you here with anyone?" she asks, trying to make conversation before Elijah can move away. Elena fiddles with the straw on her drink shyly.

Elijah takes his drink from the bartender and nods. "My brother, Klaus. And you?"

"My sister and friends." Elena pretends not to see Katherine shouting about doing karaoke. "It hasn't really been a good week and we only all just got together this morning. Caroline insisted she take us all out for drinks."

"You don't seem to be drinking very much," he observes.

"Designated driver," Elena laughs. "I'm the responsible one in the group. People call me a prude," _oh, god, stop talking!_ "and overbearing," _shut up, shut up, shut up!_ "and a killjoy—but I, uh, really can't help it."

You've done it now. He's going to run.

Elijah smiles. "I understand the feeling," he replies as Elena blinks incredulously. "I'm the oldest of four so responsibility comes naturally. And so does killjoy—it is a burden we, as the prudes, must bear."

Laughter pushes through her lips as Elena smiles back at him. From the corner of her eye, she can see Caroline, Katherine and Bonnie all dancing and singing _"Payphone"_ by Maroon 5, from the top of their lungs. Despite the fact that the song playing is actually _"Telephone"_ by Lady Gaga but she gives them points for trying and laughs some more. Elijah takes a sip of his drink and something flashes as his hand moves—sharp, shiny, silver.

And then she sees the giant fat diamond ring on his finger.

Well.

Crap.

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"TATIA!"

Tatia's eyes widen.

Damnit.

Her hands are up, rolling out of her bed as she pushes at the man whose name she has already forgotten. "Get the hell out of here—now!" Shooing him away, Tatia directs him towards the balcony window. Blearily, he trips over her discarded heel but obeys quickly, ducking out of sight as he pushes himself out of the window.

There's a disgruntled "Oof!" as the door crashes open with a bang.

Heart pounding, Tatia smirks, reclining on her bed. "Rebekah, darling, you must be more careful!" she giggles. "I could have been _indecent_ and you're—back so soon?" She drapes the sheets over herself, letting her long, slim legs dangle provocatively, and forces her flush to fade.

Sharp blue eyes narrowing in suspicion, Rebekah Mikaelson ignores Tatia and stalks into the room, her heeled boots making an annoyed clacking sound, as she sweeps her gaze over the room. Tatia simply smiles as an impulsive Rebekah checks under the table, the curtains, even the wardrobe.

"Looking for something?" Tatia calls. "If it's that hair pin I borrowed last week, I put it in your room yesterday."

"_Yes_, actually," Rebekah says frostily and her British accented voice contrasts with Tatia's lightly Bulgarian accent. She's still wearing her coat, clothes still tinged with the Canadian air—she'd been in a meeting in Canada when she heard Tatia would be all alone and had called it off, demanding her helicopter _right now or I'll start firing people_. She looks over the room sceptically, Tatia smiles wider—

And then Rebekah sweeps to the balcony.

Swallowing tightly, Tatia calls, "Rebekah—what are you looking for?"

Rebekah doesn't answer, arms squeezing the handrail so hard she imagines it's Tatia's neck. Her breath comes out in furious dragon puffs, forming in the cold November night as soft wisps. She stares around herself once more, comes up with nothing and spins around to see a rather off-looking Tatia. "I told my brother he shouldn't marry you."

"I know," Tatia bites, slightly viciously. She looks unbelievably calm now, relaxing into the pillows and it makes Rebekah's jaw tighten.

Fury rages through her as she stalks forwards towards the sneaky vixen. "You're cheating on him, you little _slut_," Rebekah says fiercely. "I know you are—,"

All pretence is destroyed. Tatia lets out a tinkle of laughter.

"Oh, Rebekah, honey," she says sweetly, tilting her head and eyeing Rebekah pitifully. Her hands run through the satin sheets, revelling in the luxury. "Why don't you _prove_ it?"

Rebekah wants to stab her with her heel but before she can, her phone rings. Exasperated, she yanks it out and taps at it. "I'm busy—,"

"Rebekah!" Kol singsongs brightly. "Do you remember that time when I told you I wouldn't tell anyone about Alexander if you did me a favour?"

"_Kol_, you little—,"

"I'm here to collect," Kol interrupts. "You need to bail me out of jail."

"What the hell did you do?"

"I just slept in the street … and yelled at a few strangers … and started a fight … and stole popcorn to watch it … and stole the police officer's phone to tweet—just a few things really. Still don't understand what's got everyone so annoyed, to be honest."

"I'm coming." Rebekah resists the urge to roll her eyes and cuts the call, pushing her phone back into her pocket. She's about to threaten Tatia but all Tatia does is stretch her limbs and yawn mockingly. "Run along, little Rebekah. Go and get your heart broken some more."

"Make no mistake, _sister_." Rebekah's eyes flash. "I'll show Elijah the truth. He deserves better than some common whore like you."

Her perfectly manicured fingers curl around the doorknob as Rebekah adds, "Oh and that was _Kol_, you disgusting skank," before swishing her hair sassily. She stalks out, power reverberating from the boots she'd had imported from Monaco.

Behind her, Tatia lets out a breath as she quickly makes her way to the balcony and leans out. Under the balcony hangs the guy, just about holding on by the tip of his fingers. She steps on his fingers. He drops and groans with the pain.

Tatia rolls her eyes.

_Men._

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Sometimes you have to do things for the sake of doing them. You have to push yourself up. Fly like Peter Pan. Try to convince your brother that you don't need to be in a stupid bar with stupid people to get stupid inspiration.

The last category is the one Mr Klaus Mikaelson falls into.

"Where's the girl you left me for?" Klaus demands when Elijah sits next to him.

"Her name is Elena," Elijah replies stiffly, "and her friends were calling her."

"I know that look, Elijah." Klaus eyes his brother carefully. "You made a friend for the first time—congratulations. It's also quite possible you'll never see her again."

Elijah drinks rather suddenly. Klaus smirks.

"This was _pointless_," he announces suddenly when the silence gets too heavy and his glass too empty. "I'm going—,"

"Niklaus," Elijah interrupts and it's very rude to interrupt but in this situation, Elijah's willing to break a few rules. "If you say you are going home, I will have to forcibly restrain you."

Klaus glowers.

"We're all very worried about you, Niklaus."

Oh God—another one of Elijah's "worried" speeches. Klaus casts his eyes for a distraction.

"You've hardly spoken to any of us since—since Mikael died."

"You can call him father, Elijah. It's respectful, you know." His eyes stop on a laughing blonde. She looks pretty.

"Niklaus, be reasonable. You are our _brother_, like it or not." Elijah's voice turns relentlessly pleading. "We all understand that you are hurt you were kept out of the will. But it's okay. You don't have to be an artist, we can give you—,"

"I don't want your money, brother!" Klaus turns to Elijah and his words are poison. He stands and slams his empty glass back onto the table. "I don't want _anything_ from any of you."

Elijah sighs and leans back into his seat, as he watches an infuriated Klaus make his way to the bar for another drink. No matter. You can try again next time. And again and again. Until Klaus realises his family really and truly does love him.

Klaus summons the bartender for another drink and throws down a few notes. He's running out of money fast. Life as an artist is not especially rich and now that his inspiration has all but dried up, Klaus is thinking of other options. He rubs his head tiredly and glances back to Elijah briefly. His big brother. Or so he'd thought. Step-brother now, he realises.

It's why Klaus doesn't see the blonde he'd been eyeing before fall into the seat next to him with an exhausted laugh. And if he thought she'd looked good before, she looks absolutely _glorious_ now. Flushed cheeks. Sunshine hair. Ocean-blue eyes. She smiles at him and it's blinding.

"Caroline Forbes!" she announces, sticking out a hand.

And she's also very drunk.

Klaus doesn't take her hand. "Klaus," he replies shortly. Where is his drink?

"You're supposed to say your surname too," Caroline tells him. "Like James Bond. Bond. James Bond. Shaken, not stirred. You know? It's only fair!"

"Mikaelson."

"Woah," Caroline laughs. "That sounds rich. Are you one of those stuffy rich guys who look down on us common folk? Are you going to go home and talk about this peasant who actually tried to shake your hand?" She bursts into drunken giggles.

Klaus takes a breath. He is not in the mood for this right now. "Look—,"

"Caroline."

"Caroline, shall I tell you how this'll play out?" Klaus raises an eyebrow. Time for some tough love. "You're insecure. Needy. Shallow. Like—like a _kiddie-pool_. You don't have long-term relationships. You're never _the one_. You'll hang onto my every word. We'll sleep together. You'll get up in the morning and hate yourself. We'll never see each other again."

Caroline blinks. There's a rather vulnerable light in her eyes that makes guilt rear up in Klaus and he wonders if he's gone too far. But Klaus Mikaelson always finishes what he's started.

"But there's a problem with that," Klaus continues as the drink is placed in front of him. "I don't actually want to sleep with you. So you leave me alone. You get drunker than usual. I get to contemplate my miserable life by myself. Everybody wins."

Her mouth falls open.

Klaus begins to turn away. He pretends not to see the bartender who is gaping at him and already pulling out a box of tissues for Caroline's inevitable tears.

And then Caroline Forbes's eyes narrow. Her shoulders square and oh, this guy is going _down_. She gets over her initial shock and her voice rises in fury as she demands, "What the hell is wrong with you, _jerk_?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Apology _not_ accepted! Totally not accepted!" She waves her hands, emphasising her words. "First of all, you can't say stuff like to people! It's downright mean and you can't just go and—and _judge_ people like you're Simon Cowell! Oh—and, and this is your drink?" Impulsively, Caroline grabs his drink furiously and downs it. "Yeah, I just drank your drink! Second, I don't want to sleep with you, in the slightest. My type's not grumpy, self-centred jackasses who obviously don't realise dog tag chains went out of fashion _aeons_ ago. I was just trying to make conversation. It's what people do. Because I'm polite. Like a _lady_. You—you need to grow up! And get your head out of your ass. Both of them! You need to do both! And you—you can—you can _get stuffed!"_

Drunkenly happy on the effectiveness of her comeback, Caroline hops off her seat and stumbles on her heels. Despite this, she still keeps her balance, flicking her hair sassily towards a gawping Klaus. "And," she adds, "I'm not insecure. _Or_ needy."

She turns her back on him, takes two steps forwards and promptly drops. Klaus grabs her before she can fall to the floor and hurt herself.

A lady? Really?

The girl Elijah had been talking to—Evie? Edna? _Egg?—_suddenly pops up and begins apologising. "Oh, thank you—I've been looking for her!" She takes Caroline from Klaus's arms, allowing the blonde to drape herself over her shoulder, and shakes her head at the unconscious girl before glancing up at Klaus who's still staring at the blonde. "I'm sorry—did Caroline say anything offensive? You see, she's very drunk and—,"

Klaus swallows. "No." He shakes his head. "She didn't say anything."

He goes home and paints.

The canvas explodes with colour.

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Mikael Mikaelson stretches lightly, feeling his bones pop into place with a sharp crick. Dark cool eyes rake over his surroundings carefully and there's a small satisfied smile linger at his lips as he shrugs off his shirt. He puts on fresh new clothing, revelling in the cleanness of it all, and glances at his assistant.

Picture perfect and calmer than a constipated sloth, she smiles at him politely—someone's getting a raise, that's for sure.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr Mikaelson." She holds out a glass. "Would you like a drink?"

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**to be continued**

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**A/N: **I have a vague idea of what the plot could be. By the way, everything's in human mode. No hybrids, vampires, unicorns. Review?


	2. quando omni flunkus moritati

**A/N: **Okay, so this is more of a filler chapter, I suppose.

I hope you enjoy and leave me a note? Pretty please?

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_quando omni flunkus moritati_

**when all else fails, play dead.**

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"Ugh," Caroline moans.

She tries to massage her head with fingers she's not sure are attached to her body properly and promptly gives up, dropping her head down onto her desk. She's never drinking again.

_Allons-y alcohol_ will be her new motto and she'll buy one of those helmets that cover your entire face so she doesn't get tempted. Wait. She might look like a Hairy Biker. Maybe not. Plus helmets always give her bad hat-hair. And then before she knows it, Caroline's already planning a life as a nun (can't be that hard, right?) and perfecting her speech to the people in the Alcoholics Anonymous: _and that's how I managed to fight the battle and you can, too!_ She bathes in the applause—

"Caroline!"

—and yanks herself back to reality. "Ugh?" Caroline tries raising her head, finds it's too much effort and drops it back down again. Must've been a dream.

"Caroline!"

Maybe not.

Caroline blinks hazily. That looks like—wait, please don't be—Caroline shoots up so fast she's sure she gets whiplash, cringing inwardly. "Good morning, Ms Lockwood!"

"It's _Mrs_ now, Caroline." Carol Lockwood eyes her suspiciously. "Are you alright? You look a little … hungover."

"What? Hungover? Me? No!" Caroline laughs. God, her head is _killing_ her. It feels like Snow White's seven dwarves are fee-fi-fo-fumming away inside her brain. Or was that Goldilocks? Ugh, her head hurts. "No! I—I'm just … practicing for a play."

They say lies are just holes you are digging yourself and waiting to drop into. Caroline disagrees. She'll stick to this one like it's the Titanic. She swallows tightly.

"Oh?" Carol's eyebrows rise.

"Yeah." Caroline nods. "I'm, uh, I'm playing a … rock."

She's dead.

"A rock?" Carol repeats icily. "Caroline, do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No?" Oh, God, that sounds too much like a question.

Before Carol can answer, her phone rings and _oh, God, thank you so much, please, thank you, ugh, yes_. Caroline's boss sticks up one perfectly manicured finger—one minute, she mouths before taking the call and Caroline breathes a sigh of relief. You _idiot_, Forbes, she scolds herself. While Carol's back is turned, she pulls out her emergency make up kit, powders her nose, swipes lip gloss over her lips, pinches colour into her cheeks, spritzes perfume discreetly and gives herself a quick pep talk.

_You are calm. You are confident. You are not hungover. You do not want to curl up in your bed and die. You are a strong—holy fudge, is that a cupcake?!_

Caroline darts forwards and grabs the cupcake, stuffing it into her mouth. Oh, God, yes, sweet, sweet pleasure! It's tantalising chocolate, melting on her tongue without the slightest bit of effort—and it's gone all too quickly.

"Caroline," Carol says, as she turns around, sliding her phone back into her bag. She's _glowing_, which is unusual for her, and there's a small smile perched on her lips. "I am willing to overlook this little hiccup. For now, you have much more pressing details to look to—the charity banquet next week? It's been pushed to tonight. Now, as we all know, I've got that business meeting in Virginia so I'm counting on you, Caroline. You can take care of things, can't you?"

"Uh, what?" Caroline blinks. "Tonight? But—but everything's been organised for—,"

"_Excellent_." Carol hitches her bag up and claps her hands together. She nods a goodbye to an inwardly panicking Caroline and makes to move away when a frown suddenly creases her forehead. Carol looks around herself curiously. "Oh and have you seen my cupcake? It's chocolate—a little treat for myself after my diet. I've only had water and peanuts for three months. I could have sworn I put it right there…"

"No, not at all." Caroline smiles innocently.

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"Bloody hell," Klaus mutters to himself. He rubs at the circles under his eyes and swallows down another gulp of coffee before sitting on his floor.

In front of him stands his canvas, proud and strong, and he, collapsed with exhaustion, staring up at it incredulously. Once a blank sky of white, now a cacophony of pure fury, Klaus had taken to his paints and refused to sit back down until he'd finished. He's tired and the sun has risen but it's finished and he's happy.

Red was the first colour he'd chosen. The colour of fury. Passion. Beauty.

"Nik, Elijah's forced me to come down here and get you up off your lazy arse and ask you why—_woah_." Kol skids to a stop, Klaus's door slamming shut behind him, and stares.

Klaus glances up at his brother, smirking proudly. "Fantastic, isn't it?"

"I thought you said you couldn't paint—not even if the Queen got down on her knees and begged you to?" Kol blinks. He swallows down a sudden lump of sadness and forces himself to grin.

"I _can_ paint," Klaus insists, rather indignant. He gets up, brushes his hands down on his trousers and gestures. "Living proof, mate."

"So where are you going to sell it?"

Klaus stares at Kol as if Kol's just decided to go find the Loch Ness Monster. And marry it. "Sell it?" he repeats. "I'm not selling this!"

Scoffing, Kol laughs. "Nik, you're in a one-bedroom apartment with a sofa for a bed and," he nudges at the empty cups, "coffee for food. The only thing you have in this place is your art stuff and maybe a couple of rats for company. If you're not going to take money from us—and I don't think you will because you're a stubborn prick—you're going to have to sell it."

Klaus hates to admit it but Kol is right—never thought he'd be saying those words. Ever. He rubs at his head again and shrugs, trying to act casual. "Fine," he gets out and Kol raises an eyebrow at him.

"How did you even get your precious inspiration, anyway?" He glances back at the painting. "It looks so bloody _angry_. Did you get into a fight? Oh, I know—hate sex, right? I told you—sex solves _everything_."

"No." Klaus shakes his head. Come to think of it, he doesn't actually quite know. It might have been—_no_. He doubts it. "I don't know. I think it comes when I'm angry."

"You want to try it out?" Kol picks up a paintbrush and throws himself on the sofa. "How about this? I dropped out of university."

_"Again?"_

"Well, it was boring."

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Kol?" Klaus demands. "This is the second time—when will you realise you have to grow up, you thickhead?"

Kol shrugs carelessly as he twirls the paintbrush within his fingers. He kicks at a coffee cup beneath his feet and looks like he really couldn't care less. The inattention only serves to anger Klaus even further.

"_Rebekah's_ better than you, for God's sake!" Klaus runs a hand through his hair. "She's smarter, she's got her own company _and_ she's younger than you!" His younger sister passed all her exams before college and had used her money to start her own business. Everybody's very proud. He pauses. "Have you told Elijah?"

"Nope."

"YOU STUPID IDIOTIC—,"

"Paint, Nik!" Kol jumps up, stuffs a paintbrush into Nik's fingers and grins. "This is brilliant! You're angry!"

"DON'T YOU CHANGE THE SUBJECT—,"

"Don't you want to paint?"

"NO! I WANT TO STRANGLE YOU, YOU LITTLE—,"

"Oh. Well. Time to go!"

The younger Mikaelson brother salutes Klaus mockingly, grinning as he darts out of Klaus's apartment. He bumps into Elijah along the way, doesn't stop and continues running. Klaus growls death threats under his breath. He'll kill Kol—why doesn't that little idiot ever _learn_? He's joked and laughed with his entire life, partying hard and discarding study.

"Niklaus, this is _magnificent_."

"Did you know about Kol?" Klaus takes a breath. He watches as Elijah moves towards the painting and looks over it appraisingly.

"Yes," Elijah replies shortly. "I will be talking to him soon but for now, we must talk about where this painting should be displayed." His tone conveys finality and usually, Klaus would probe further but the usual pride flickers up in him once again.

"It's still a bit wet," he warns as Elijah's fingers reach out to touch the painting curiously.

"However did you manage to summon the inspiration?"

"I got angry. I think." Klaus frowns.

There's a small silence in which the two brothers stare at the painting. There are various colours of oranges, yellows—a sunset dipped in anger or was it passion? Nonetheless, red is the _true_ dominant colour, splayed across the canvas wildly.

Klaus suddenly realises something.

The red colour is the exact shade as the dress Caroline wore last night.

Well.

Bloody hell.

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"I need balloons, people! And not just the small kiddie balloons where you can pop them with one hairpin—nope! I need—I NEED UNPOPPABLE BALLOONS! Everywhere! If anybody shows me a poppable balloon, I will—I'll—I'll spoil the season finale of _Expression_!"

There's a collected gasp.

"Yeah, that's right, bitches—I watched it." Caroline nods triumphantly as the staff all gape at her. "And let me tell you, it. Was. Fab-u-_lous_." She claps her hands together. "Now, caterers, get cooking! Decorators, I want this place beautiful! Musicians, come on, this is a charity—play something like it's a funeral! We can do this, people!"

Everyone moves slowly, still stunned.

Caroline rolls her eyes. "Now, at the beginning of _Expression_, Meredith decides she's not going to take—oh, there we go! Now we're talking! Come on!" She claps her hands again, hurrying everyone up as the staff move quicker. Caroline whirls around, tucking a clipboard under her arm, snatches up a glass of wine and downs it quickly. "Just, uh, taste testing!" the blonde bluffs, to the waiter who blinks at her.

"Caroline!" Elena navigates her way around the hustle and bustle, smiling jovially. "I've been trying to reach you—I thought we were getting lunch?"

"Elena, ugh, thank _God_. And lunch is going to have to be here," Caroline breathes. "I need a hug. And ice cream. Mostly the last one, though."

Rummaging through her bags, Elena mutters, "I have Ben and Jerry's here, somewhere," and pulls out the ice cream. Caroline falls on it gratefully, exclaiming, "I love you, Gilbert," before yelling at the waiters to hurry up over a mouthful of Cookie Dough. Ugh, so good. So, _so_ good.

"I thought I bought a bigger carton," Elena says but Katherine's already coming in, slim fingers wrapped around said bigger carton of Ben and Jerry's. "Kat, that was for Caroline—she's had a very trying day."

Caroline nods as she inhales her ice cream like air. "Very trying day," she repeats as she flops onto a chair. Elena sets down her bags on the table and sits next to her, as Katherine hitches herself up onto the table itself, swinging her legs carelessly.

"You put ice cream in front of me, Elena. It was tempting fate," Katherine replies, shrugging. "Where's BonBon?"

"Bonnie's too hungover to move—she texted me to say she'll be eating at her office," Elena supplies. "Don't eat too fast, Care—I've got lunch plus you'll get a stomach ache. How are you holding up?"

"Ugh, horribly," Caroline moans, completely disregarding the first part of Elena's sentence and continuing to bury herself in ice cream. "I seriously think I should be a nun. What did we even do last night? Dare I even ask?"

"Well," Elena tilts her head, "Caroline, first of all, you wouldn't get into the car, saying you'd turned environmental and sang '_I'm Coming Home_' all the way. I'm pretty sure you made up the lyrics. Katherine got into an argument with someone about her shoes—for some reason, you went weird and said something about being a safe psychotic bitch."

"Psychotic?" Katherine blinks. "_Moi?_"

"Excuse me, Miss Forbes?" A waiter gulps as Caroline stuffs another spoonful of Cookie Dough into her mouth.

"Mm?" Caroline mumbles.

"There are two men outside, wanting to speak to Ms Lockwood."

"Do they look important?"

"They're in suits?"

Caroline drops her spoon, letting it clatter to the table. She leaps up, smoothes down her dress and takes a breath. "Suits _mean_ important!" Grabbing her clipboard, Caroline claps her hands once again. "Okay, people—we've got visitors! Just ignore them unless I wink and then you have to kiss their asses, got it?" She begins to stalk towards the door, thinks of something and spins around. "And Kat—don't even think of stealing my ice cream."

The spoon already halfway to her mouth, Katherine smiles sheepishly and drops it back into Caroline's ice cream carton. She pushes it away slowly. "Message received, Care Bear! Go be awesome!"

Stalking away in the heels she's stolen from Kat (shh, don't tell or she'll kill you) and head high with the feeling of awesome rushing through her veins, Caroline checks the room as she moves. "Wrong shade!" she snaps at the decorators. "I want pale red, like the colour Meredith turned when—," she breaks off deliberately. Oh, the feeling of _knowing_. So glorious. Power is knowledge, after all. Yadda yadda. Caroline yanks open the doors, delirious on ice cream and spoilers.

"Miss Caroline Forbes, keeper of the spoilers to the season finale of _Expression_, nursing a hangover like there's no tomorrow—what can I do for you? Mrs Lockwood's not here today so you'll have to deal with me!"

Oh. Did she just say that out loud?

As Caroline blushes hard and curses her inability to shut the hell up, she rakes curious eyes over the two vaguely familiar-looking men. Oh, well, _hello_ there. Swallow, _breathe_, Forbes. In, out. In, out.

They're smirking. Damn you, word vomit.

Suit. All she sees is suit. Holy—it's Hugo Boss, isn't it? Suits are her kryptonite, damn it. Along with ice cream and Kat's heels. But oh god, look at _them_. Her eyes slide from the first man, whose hair is so fabulous she wants his conditioner, to the other. The man who's standing a little behind looks startled and then he smirks—oh holy mother of all things holy—is that actually—oh, god, those are dimples, those are _real live dimples_—someone take a picture and put it up on Instagram PRONTO.

She's going through a dry spell. Be nice.

"Miss Forbes." The first man puts out a hand for her to shake and oh, God, is she _glad_ he's choosing to ignore her stumble in the beginning. "I am Elijah Mikaelson. This is my brother—Klaus Mikaelson."

Oh._Oh_. British. They're actual live Englishmen. Right here. In the flesh. That deep, rumbling accent she's obsessed over ever since Tom Hiddleston—this is not fair, Mother Nature gives the Brits _everything_. Style. Grace. Suits. TEA. This is too much—

Wait—_Klaus? _

Why does that name sound so familiar? Caroline's heard that before, hasn't she? Klaus is smirking at her, the wind whispering through his hair. Oh, God,_ what the hell did you do, _Forbes?

_"You can—you can get stuffed!"_

Caroline feels weak. Ha. Funny. Yes. She remembers now. "Hi." Struggling to compose herself, Caroline shakes Elijah's hand and swallows tightly. "Uh, I—. It's a, um, pleasure."

"We are here about the charity banquet next week?" Elijah sees she's a little flustered and ignores it. She thinks she loves him. "My brother has a donation to make." He takes the big covered frame from Klaus and smiles proudly as he pulls out the painting.

Caroline continues looking at Elijah, not allowing herself to make eye contact with Klaus. He looks so proud of his brother.

Ahh, that's so sweet. Such a shame your brother is an irritable, pretentious pig and she'd rather go through a whole week of spoilers than let him near her. Even if he has dimples. Sorry to disappoint.

"Mr Mikaelson," Caroline begins in her sorry-not-sorry, honey-sweet tone. "I—,"

And then she makes the mistake of actually looking at the painting.

Stupid son of a bitch.

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**to be continued**

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**A/N CONTINUED: **Three guesses as to what Klaus's inspiration really is. :D


	3. quid? me anxius sum?

**A/N: **So I just really want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing and favouriting (that is now a word) this story. I've been trying really hard for this one!

Enjoy!

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_quid? me anxius sum?—_

**what? me worry?**

.

.

It's glorious.

Astounding. Beautiful. Stunning.

She's running out of adjectives.

But the most important thing? If Carol found out she'd turned this down because Mr Grumpy there had insulted Caroline to the point where she'd told him to get stuffed, she'd be fired faster than a scalded Katherine.

Caroline swallows tightly. She forces a smile and opens the door wider to let them come in. "Uh, the charity banquet's been pushed to tonight. We'd be—honoured to have your brother's painting as one of our donations."

Klaus splutters. "Donations?" he repeats, gaping at his brother. "Elijah—,"

"Niklaus, remember what we talked about. This allows you to be recognised as an _artist_." Elijah looks rather tired as if he's been through this conversation countless times.

"But it's too precious to be a donation!" Klaus hisses, whining into his brother's ear.

Well, he certainly seems to be upholding the stereotypical pained artist thing pretty well, Caroline thinks as she folds her arms. "I could leave you guys if you want some privacy?"

"No. My brother and I have made our decision. We would be honoured if you would do us the pleasure of displaying Niklaus's painting." Elijah bends his head to her politely.

Oh my God, this is so flattering. He's _such_ a gentleman, especially contrasted with his brother. Caroline feels like she's in an Austen novel—she could totally pull off a bonnet.

"Thank you, Miss Forbes," Elijah continues.

"Uh, Caroline will do just fine," Caroline tells him dreamily. In her mind, she's already dancing—Pride and Prejudice style, obviously. Isn't that just every woman's dream? To hook yourself a Mr Darcy?

Elijah looks a little uncertain before a small smile pushes at his lips. "Caroline."

Caroline smiles brightly at him, tries not to scowl at Klaus and pushes open the door wider to let them in. She battles inside herself—should I accidentally on purpose use Kat's heels to trip him up?

_Or should I not? _

Just one itty bitty trip?

_No, Caroline! _

Kat would do it.

_Last time I checked, you're CAROLINE FORBES!_

TRIP HIM!

_DON'T DO IT!_

DO IT! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO! GIVE IN TO THE DARK SIDE, FORBES!

But Klaus is already walking inside behind Elijah and the moment's gone. Caroline follows, snaps her fingers at a passing waiter and hisses for drinks before shutting the door behind her.

"Uh, as you can see," she gives a tentative laugh, glancing around the room where everyone rushes around like maniacs, "we're a bit pressed for time. If you want to just leave your painting here, I'll make sure it gets hung up. Would you like anything to drink?"

Klaus's eyes are on the hustle and bustle around himself but Elijah is more polite (obviously), choosing to focus on Caroline as she tries not to slip up. "Actually, Miss—uh, Caroline, I was hoping to talk to Mrs Lockwood. We have a meeting next week but I must cancel, due to family affairs."

"Oh, well, I can do it for you," Caroline is saying and walking at the same time when Elena comes out of the kitchens, turning back to talk to a waiter, and finds herself crashing into Elijah.

Arms already forming around Elena's slight build, Elijah stops her from falling as Caroline watches, open-mouthed. This is too adorable—is this really happening? She's hyperventilating, she's actually hyperventilating because every romantic comedy _ever_ has suddenly fallen in shame, contrasted with Elena and Elijah. They're staring at each other and Katherine's already got harps playing on her iPhone but Caroline can't bring herself to stop her. Elena and Elijah—congratulations, you've got yourself a fangirl!

Damn. She needs a ship name.

And then—Caroline blinks. Oh no. Is that an actual wedding ring?

SON OF A B—

"—iscuit, Miss Forbes?" A waiter offers a plate of biscuits as Caroline splutters.

A bright red Elena untangles herself from Elijah's arms, breathlessly murmuring a grateful "Thank you" and throws a look at Katherine to stop her playing harp music. Katherine scowls but presses pause, ready whenever it's time. Caroline swallows tightly and forces a smile onto her face.

"Uh, we'll have your painting up by tonight," she gets out, waving away the waiter. "Come over any time during the party."

"Oh, we intend to," Klaus drawls. He finally stops glancing around himself curiously and looks straight at Caroline seriously, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes are dancing with an amused fire as he continues, "It's been an absolute pleasure, Miss—oh, _Caroline_."

Momentarily struck dumb by the sheer effect of how his accent manages to do things to her, Caroline tries to swallow.

Ugh.

Why does he have to be British?

.

.

"I swear she's cheating on Elijah—I just have to find out how to prove it!" Rebekah's pacing in her room. She runs a hand through her hair, chews on her bottom lip—stops chewing on her bottom lip because her Chanel Rouge lipstick has been through enough already—and frowns. "Come on, think—that little slut is doing the dirty with every man she sees and I have to stop her! Ugh—,"

"Rebekah, you've got crazy eyes going on."

Lying on his front, on Rebekah's bed, and flicking through her Vogue magazine to hum appreciatively at the bikini models, Kol's eyes flicker up to his crazy sister. She paces faster and glares at him.

"KOL! THIS IS A VERY SERIOUS EMERGENCY AND YOU NEED TO HELP ME!"

"Don't you have work?"

Rebekah looks uncomfortable. "Look, I brought in a private investigator—,"

"You do have work!" Kol gets up and eyes Rebekah. He circles her, taking note of her posture and stares into her eyes. "And … you left Canada last night? Tut tut, sis—this Tatia obsession is controlling you. Elijah's going to get jealous. What else—you had a meeting?" His eyes rake over her cheeks. "And it … was this morning! But you missed it!"

"Kol, stop psycho-analysing me before I whack you with my purse." Rebekah shakes back her hair, steps away and glowers at her brother. "And you have no right to talk about me missing a meeting—you dropped out of university."

For the first time, Kol's smirk drops a little but he hitches it back up before Rebekah can see. "Why doesn't anybody understand?" he shrugs. "Free spirit, everyone. Plus, I like to call it 'choosing my own path'."

"If father were still alive," Rebekah begins but she falters. He'd force you to go back and you know it.

There's a silence.

"Kol, are you going to help me with Tatia or not?" Rebekah changes the subject quickly. "Because there's the door if you're not—,"

"As much as I love watching you fail, I _do_ have nothing better to do so fine," Kol replies. He flops back onto Rebekah's bed and ignores her scowl when he deliberately messes up the sheets. "I'll help."

The doorbell rings and Rebekah all but flies down the stairs to yank it open. Her eyes widen when they find a blonde, blue-eyed man smiling at her—does she need to refresh her lipstick? She did remember to wear her best heels today, right? One swivel of her eyes down reminds her that she did. How's her hair?

"Uh, hi," Rebekah says breathlessly. "I'm, um, Rebekah Mikaelson." She forces herself to get a grip and smiles. "And you would be?"

_Absolutely goddamn gorgeous._

"Matt Donovan." He puts out a hand for her to shake. "I'm the private investigator. We talked over the phone. It's very nice to meet you."

"Would you like to come in?" Rebekah opens the door wider and Mr Blue Eyes enters her house, looking around it in quiet awe. She laughs. "It's a bit big, I know. The sitting room is that way."

Kol lopes casually down the stairs, looking at his sister and chuckles under his breath. Another one. Oh, sister, do you never learn? "And I'm Kol Mikaelson, her big brother. She has three more. Just putting that out there." He smiles. Rebekah's eyes find him.

Oh, if looks could kill, Kol would be getting cremated right now.

When they're all settled in—Kol in the comfy sofa, smiling at Matt who sits in the uncomfortable chair only Elijah would ever sit in and Rebekah trying to catch her breath as she darts around offering refreshments—Matt sets out a few papers. "So, we need to first settle contracts, agreements, how much you're going to pay me—,"

"Anything," Rebekah says quickly, too quickly. Kol snickers and she discreetly smacks the back of his head, smiling innocently.

"And what exactly I'm supposed to be investigating. You seemed a bit vague on the phone." Matt puts the papers on the table, shuffles through them and picks out the most important ones.

"Tatia," Rebekah replies when everything's sorted. "My brother's wife. We think she's cheating on him."

"We _think_, Rebekah?" Kol questions.

Rebekah rolls her eyes. "Fine. _I_."

"Oh, I didn't mean that, sister." Kol smiles wolfishly. He waves a hand airily. "I _did_ see Tatia with someone who didn't look a bit like Elijah last night, after all."

Everybody wants to kill Kol, at some point in their lives.

.

.

"Come on, come on!" Caroline's urging, running all over the place. She tests a balloon, pops a tart into her mouth and listens to the music. "Balloons are fine, tarts are too tart-_ey_—we're not sluts, people—and I need sadder music! I want people crying buckets! Buckets! Like—like Jack's dying on the Titanic! I want people crying like_ it's the Titanic_! This is a charity banquet, people! WORK WITH ME!"

Katherine opens her mouth. She shuts it. Caroline's still flitting about. You can do this, Pierce. Simple. Do it quick. Like a plaster. Come on. "Caroline! I-stole-the-painting-even-though-you-told-me-not-to-and-I'm-sorry-but I love you! Bye!"

Caroline blinks. "Kat, what are you on?"

Katherine takes a breath and explains.

_Earlier, after the Mikaelsons had left and Caroline had enough control to stop herself from making faces behind Klaus's back, Katherine had fawned over the picture. "Caroline, I need this for the gallery! Just for a bit—,"_

_"Nope."_

_"I'll bring it straight back, I promise—,"_

_"You also promised you'd pay me back that ice cream you stole from me."_

_"That was years ago, Care—I can't believe you've still remembered!"_

_"It was last week!"_

_"Oh."_

_Katherine had taken it anyway and Care, she's really sorry but she forgot to bring it back and it's on the other side of town and doesn't the charity banquet start IN AN HOUR?_

Caroline grips her pencil so hard it breaks in two. "Katherine."

Katherine winces. "Yeah?"

_"Run."_

The next twenty minutes are thrown away in a musty haze.

"Okay, everyone stay calm," Caroline tells her staff. She'll deal with this minor hiccup. That's all it is. Minor hiccup. Nothing at all. Chip off her shoulder. She can do this. She won't get fired. "Sad music! Good food! Unpoppable balloons! Or I'm ruining _Expression_ for every single one of you!" she threatens as she ducks out of the doors. Minor hiccup. She can stay calm.

But this blonde is anything but calm.

Caroline Forbes goes crazy as she runs down the streets herself, too impatient to find herself a taxi, clipboard still in hand. Strangers gape at the breathless, red-faced girl as she yells apologies when she bumps into them and runs faster anyway. When Caroline finally makes it to Katherine's art gallery, she's out of breath, panting and redder than the shade Klaus had used on his painting.

You see, Katherine's a socialite. Spoilt Upper East Side princess doesn't know what else to do because her friends have regular jobs. Elena refuses to use their money and went into journalism. Caroline went into fashion design. And Bonnie is a police officer. So Kat's bored and decides to splash money into art galleries, museums, whatever. Her latest obsession is her art gallery.

"I—need to—go in!" Caroline pants to the guard. "A—friend of—Kat's!"

The guard shakes his head. "Gallery's closed for the night, ma'am."

Caroline glowers. "But Kat stole my painting and I need to get it back before my boss fires me and this party needs to be amazing but Mr Grumpy Pants is attending—and I JUST NEED THAT PAINTING!"

The guard raises an eyebrow. "Ma'am—,"

"Caroline."

"Caroline. There are bolts on this door which explicitly means I cannot let you in—,"

"I'll tell you what happens in the season finale of _Expression_."

"Let me get my keys."

Works every time.

Caroline smiles happily as she moves into the darkened gallery, thrusts sheets up and peers at the art pieces. Klaus's painting really is extraordinary, she thinks grudgingly when she's eyeing a painted snowflake. He's got talent, she muses when a landscape of New Orleans pops up. Doesn't mean he's still not an asshole, she reasons with herself when she sees a leprechaun patting a unicorn.

"That's the one!" Caroline crows with triumph as she grabs the painting. Her freshly manicured nails claw into it slightly but she doesn't notice, frowning at it. "I feel like there's something wrong with it…"

"Caroline, the paint's curling on the edges." The guard sounds very apologetic.

She's going to murder Katherine.

And then it starts to rain.

When Caroline finally gets back to the party, she's only lightly soaked—having stuffed herself and the painting into a taxi—but the painting, wrapped in her jacket, is worse. It's dripped with paint and rainwater and Caroline's tears. She shoves money into the taxi driver's hand, pushes open the door and gapes.

It's magnificent. Everyone has done exactly as she asked. Her staff beam at her brilliantly. The musicians play music sadder than "My Heart Will Go On". Delicious smells drift over the place. The balloons are floating about beautifully. Elena and Bonnie are grinning at her.

"Caroline?" Elena spies the tear tracks. "Sweetie, did you get the—oh."

Eyes fall to the ruined painting and the atmosphere deflates.

Katherine stalks into the room, snapping into her phone. "I don't care what you have to do, do you hear me? You find that painting or I'm going to—Caroline, you're back!" She smiles tentatively. "Is that the—,"

"Yeah, it got ruined on the way here," Caroline supplies. She drops herself into a chair and lets out a breath. "Great work, by the way, you guys. This place looks fantastic."

The praise isn't enough.

You see, they don't work for Caroline because they're terrified of _Expression_ spoilers. Well, they are but that's not the point. They work for Caroline Forbes because Caroline Forbes is _bright_. She's fun and works harder than anyone and enigmatic and she's got enough passion for anybody. The musicians falter. The balloons fall. The food is offered to Caroline though she shakes her head.

"Knock knock?"

Klaus enters the place, not bothering to get a reply. His eyes widen as he takes in the surroundings—he's impressed. Usually, Caroline would gloat but she's too tired. "This—you've done a fantastic job, Caroline."

You make a mess for someone; you get them out of it. Katherine stares at him suddenly. "Klaus…" She tries for a mysterious smile. "There's been a bit of a hiccup."

Klaus's eyes narrow.

"Your painting's been ruined." Never let Katherine Pierce deliver bad news. "But you can totally make another one, can't you?"

The artist splutters. "Ruined?" he repeats, aghast. Klaus runs a hand through his hair—but the inspiration, the muse! He still hasn't found out what on earth it could be. "Did you know how long it took me to paint that?" he growls angrily. "ALL NIGHT! I haven't slept at all—I've been surviving on coffee!"

Getting up, Caroline smiles. Kat may be right. "Come on, Klaus," she says, trying to sound persuasive. She ends up sounding coy and seductive but Klaus isn't going to tell her that. "You can do this, can't you? We've got everything you might need—paintbrushes, a canvas—,"

"Do you have inspiration? Because I'm going to need more than paintbrushes and a blank canvas."

"We've got forty minutes, an hour tops," Caroline tells him decisively. In her mind, he's already agreed. She claps her hands together and calls, "Okay, people! He's going to paint something else and I'm going to quickly change—we can do this!" She breaks into a broad smile.

This night will be perfect. Her enthusiasm is contagious. Already, everyone is moving about, checking and double checking everything, on her command. Caroline orders a few people to buy art materials for a stunned Klaus, who wants to protest but doesn't know who to protest to, and promptly runs upstairs to change. "Let's get the balloons up again, everyone!"

.

.

He's in a madhouse.

Klaus should turn around and march right out of this insanity right now. Yes, he should. He can tell Elijah he doesn't dally with the psychotics, he'd like to pursue a life doing something else, he'd rather chew on his own arm than stay here. Except he's still frozen. The brunette twin with curls stuffs a paintbrush into his fingers and smiles at him brightly.

"Paint."

Not one to take orders, Klaus begins to protest but his indignant complaint falls short when his eyes find a rather beautiful blonde elegantly descending the staircase.

She's absolutely _stunning_, decked out in a royal blue gown that clings to her slim figure and pushes out at the waist in soft swathes of material. Thousands of flickering beads, from the bodice, kiss the light when she moves as she gracefully steps down, her hands, covered in elbow-length, silky, pale white gloves, drifting along the banisters. Caroline smiles hesitantly, golden curls tumbling about her face as she raises a hand to brush them away, and turns to her friends.

"How do I look?"

Striking. Ravishing. Exquisite.

Her friends squeal with delight, pulling Caroline into a hug. Klaus is left to close his mouth and work on the painting. It seems inspiration has a hold of him again. His hands drift over the pot of emerald green paint, stop at the lipstick red but the paintbrush lands in royal blue.

_Crap._

He thinks he's found out what his inspiration is.

Caroline laughs.

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**to be continued**

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**A/N: **I'll be writing about Mikael soon, don't worry. Haven't forgotten about him. *taps nose. ends up tapping air*

Ahem. Review?


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